


He Talks in His Sleep (Part V)

by knaval



Series: He Talks in His Sleep [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Sleep Walking, Sleep talking, Sleepiness, Sleeping Together, Sleepovers, Sleeptalking, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Sleepy Stiles, eh, little bit of angst okay, sleep talk, sort of, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:54:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaval/pseuds/knaval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sleep talking is a thing that occurs okay and shit happens because they sleep together but feelings happen because of the talking</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Talks in His Sleep (Part V)

**Author's Note:**

> im hoping the next part will be along soon its mostly written i just need to write other stuff for it
> 
> i don't know any more roman numerals this is a problem D:

Nobody was talking. Then again, neither of them was asleep. That was probably why Stiles could only hear his father snoring down the hall. Aside from that, it was unearthly quiet.

 

“So, um,” Stiles began again, punctuating the slice a few moments later, only to be talked over by the quiet.

 

"So, um. We're both awake at the same time. Imagine that," Stiles begins _again_ , uncomfortably. He had no idea where to go with this, but he felt that if he didn’t keep talking the opportunity would be gone forever. But even he struggled to come up with something to say, and with every passing second it became harder to break the silence.

 

“So, uhmmm…” Stiles tried again, clearing his throat, this time forcing himself to continue, “Hey, Derek. Um, you still awake?”

 

Derek remained still, breathing slowly without a sound. He was totally faking, Stiles knew. Even if he would sleep again that night, after _that_ , he doubted if Derek could.

 

 _That_ being the most wonderful and confusing ten seconds of his entire life, and he wasn’t even fully awake for it. Damn it.

 

“Uh, Derek,” Stiles tried again after a moment, breaking it, taking that first step, testing the waters. Good progress. He just needed to keep going. “Derek. Dereeeeeeek. Der. Deeeer. Der-ek,” he said, flicking his tongue over his teeth as he enunciated it, and it became a mantra, a single thought played over and over again like a record spinning through the final groove. He felt like a newspaper printer, spitting out the same word over and over, but if he stops saying it, the silence will take over and

 

Of course if he doesn’t stop saying it he may well never think of anything else to say –which would be fine with him, he loves saying it. He could never say enough, never stretch the vowels out long enough to keep the word on his lips, to keeping it rolling on his tongue. Ever since the feelings started, saying Derek’s name was a secret, guilty pleasure. Whenever he said it, he brought it up carefully, trying to come off as if he didn’t want to be talking about Derek. He didn’t want anyone to think he wanted to be talking about Derek, even if he did. But saying it made his heart catch on something, and he could feel his mouth pull subtly upwards. Then Scott started giving him weird looks, and Stiles could see the gears working in his head to try to figure out why his heartbeat picked up every time he said Derek’s name. Eventually he texted Scott that it had to do with an incurable fear of Derek eavesdropping.

 

For a while he avoided the name, said it as little as possible. Any movie with an actor named “Derek” or a book with an author sharing the name or if it was mentioned in passing conversation, he avoided it, pretended he hadn’t heard or seen it. Because for the longest time he didn’t want to think about Derek, because he didn’t want to let himself fall any further than he already had.

 

But sometimes when he was alone, he said it too himself, just a mention to the wind. No one had to know. Once, he hadn’t known Derek was close enough to hear him, and seconds after he had said it, Derek was there, demanding to know what he wanted, and suspicious as to how Stiles had known that Derek was in the vicinity. Stiles came up with a bullshit response which the memory of still brought red to his cheeks, and often made him wish he could forget. He tried to remember it differently, to focus on other detail, but it did nothing to alleviate the embarrassment, and he could only hope that Derek didn’t remember it.

 

So he stretched out the vowels in every possibly combination and pitch, until he remembered how Derek said his name that way, whispered it over and over in a mumble until it might have meant nothing, yet each time it had sent a surge to his heart, leaping as it had the first time their eyes met. Only now it was an excitement, well, more excitement now. Then it had been some excitement but mostly fear and a confused survival instinct.

 

He flushes red at the memory of Derek saying his name, and at the thought of what he must sound like now, and promptly he stops.

 

He waits in the dark all of a second before he manages to say it again, and it still feels wonderful to say, even though he hears Derek stifle a groan at his still being awake. Stiles almost smiles to himself –even in all the awkwardness, Derek’s annoyance is constant, and here the one familiarity he can glean comfort from.

 

“Derek, you’re awake, right?”

 

"N-" Derek began in a wrecked voice, cutting himself off at the letter as he betrayed himself with the one treacherous word.

 

Stiles glanced over at him, sitting up in bed. Derek remained perfectly still, turned just away from him. His eyes were closed a mite too tight, the sound of his breath nonexistent, as if he was holding it. Wow that was worse than Scott’s impression of sleep, which involved the fakest snore known to man and werewolf, and constantly peeking to see if Stiles looked convinced. He never did, but Stiles gave Scott credit for the eye movement because it could be passed off as an attempt towards imitating REM sleep. Derek got no credit for that act he was trying to pass off as sleep.

 

Besides, Derek obviously didn’t know himself very well. He had the softest snore, like a baby chainsaw, which was presently lacking. Stiles often imagined it feebly trying to start between mumbles. Some nights Stiles pretended to himself that Derek would make a good lumberjack with his baby chainsaw snore. After all, he looked the part, and he lived in the woods. It made total sense.

 

But now Derek was just a werewolf who was bad at faking sleep.

 

“Derek,” Stiles said again, reaching over to shake him. Derek didn’t bat (or open) an eye. He grumbled, but remained motionless, letting Stiles know he didn’t take him seriously.

 

“Derek!” Stiles snapped, louder now, kicking Derek through the pillow wall. The pillows did less cushioning the blow to Derek’s back and more to Stile’s foot from hitting Derek. It still hurt though.

 

“Derek, you still asleep?” he snaps, massaging his foot.

 

Derek grumbles into his pillow, making phony motions to suggest he was only just then waking up. He glares at Stiles, probably the first time they’ve made eye contact while in bed. If you don’t count the half-awake one that started the whole silent treatment. “So you wake me up to ask that?”

 

Stiles had a great sudden need to kick Derek off the edge of the bed.

 

“Oh ho, not even my dad’s buying that,” Stiles hissed at Derek, which earns _him_ a kick under the sheets after Derek sits up in alarm to glance at the door. Stiles rolls away from him, cackling, until he teeters on the edge of the bed. Derek shoves a pillow in his face.

 

Great. Derek was awake. They were both awake. Now what.

 

Stiles took in a deep breath, and let it out into the pillow before sitting up again. “Sourwolf, we need to talk.”

 

Derek harrumphed like he wasn’t planning on saying anything, looking pointedly not at Stiles.

 

“For one,” Stiles pressed on, not letting Derek’s cold (though still impeccably hot) shoulders thwart him again, “Who said you could sleep in my bed?”

 

Derek snapped around to him, a glint of icy blue in his eyes. No big deal. Just getting a werewolf angry at him in bed, all he’s got to protect himself is a pillow, which, oh, is wonderful for hiding any arousal he might possibly be getting from the danger. He thinks briefly he should probably talk to a therapist or someone about his lack of survival initiative and his boner for Der-, no, _danger_. Well, Derek too, but he’s not going to tell a doctor about Derek.

 

“It was implied!” Derek insists once he’s taken a couple breaths and gotten the blue out of his eyes. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, letting the pillow sit comfortably in his lap. He meets Derek’s eyes impassively.

 

“Uh-huh, I don’t even remember letting you in my room.”

 

Derek gestures wildly, grasping in the air for word to express his frustration. “It, it was, —you! You left the window open! You left blankets and a sleeping bag out!”

 

Aw. He should see the way his face lights up all happy-still-angry-though when he thinks he’s found an argument against Stiles.

 

“Uh-huh. So? Who said you could get in my bed? That’s kinda rape-y, don’t ya think?”

 

“You let me! You never said anything against it, you left it open, you practically invited me in!”

 

“Doubt it. You’re creepy Derek Hale.”

 

“Yeah, and you’ve been leaving me breakfast out almost every morning-!” he snapped, brushing right past the fact he had just agreed he was creepy. Stiles could barely keep the smile out of his voice, but he pinched his skin to keep a straight face. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest again, tilting his head to expose the bruises just starting to form on his neck. Derek’s eyes widened, and his higher brain functions seemed to fizzle out while looking at it until Stiles defended childishly, and his eyes snapped back to Stiles:

 

“Yeah, well, that could be for Scott. You wouldn’t know because you never talk to me.”

 

“You don’t do that for Scott,” Derek growled from the bottom of his throat, almost predatorily, a glimmer of red reaching his eyes, and ok Stiles’ heartbeat jumped at that and Derek heard it. He knows because a smile threatens to tug at the corner of Derek’s mouth, making him look almost proud when he says that.

“I could,” Stiles suggests, and he feels that he’s acting like Lydia when she’s arguing with Jackson. Just a little weird, but he sees now how she seems to win all the time.

 

“But you wouldn’t, because Scott’s a _friend_ ,” Derek says, shaking his head a little, a smirk persuading his expression, and oh, he hasn’t broken eye contact this whole time. Thank god for the pillow.

 

“Oh great, so I’ve been sharing my bed with a stranger then?” Stiles baits him, “I’d hoped to wait till college for that.”

 

Derek growls, taking it, snapping, “I’m not saying that! I’m saying we’re closer than friends, it’s not just friendship, it’s—”

 

“Romantic?” Stiles suggests under his breath, to which Derek agreed in a snap before he had finished processing the word. He looked up, face struck silent and unreadable.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM A MONSTER THAT EATS COMMENTS NOM NOM NOM ok i don't know anymore please just tell me what you thought of it


End file.
